


Your Fault

by DktrAgonizer



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Body Horror, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 14:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6242983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DktrAgonizer/pseuds/DktrAgonizer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their mom’s dead, and they don’t know why, but it’s their fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Fault

**Author's Note:**

> A ficlet I wrote a few years ago of an au where one of my OCs - a modern day plague doctor - develops a power to spread sickness and death to whatever living thing they touch as a kid.

Paeton’s first thought when their fingers sink into the flesh is “No, no, that’s not supposed to happen”. They stare at their hand for a moment, at the fingers dipping lower and lower into the soft, decaying, grey flesh of their mom’s arm. Their fingers sink low enough to hit bone as blood and pus ooze up from the dead flesh, flowing over their fingers and dripping to the floor.

It’s the scream that yanks them out of the disbelieving trance. Their mom yanks her arm away and stares down at the newly created wound, a mixture of fear and revulsion and pain on her face. “What,” she gasps out, and the way she’s breathing is more horrifying than the sight in front of them.

They don’t know what to do, or why this is happening, or what to expect. Is she sick? Does she need an ambulance? They can see the white of the bone just under the red, glistening blood and yellow pus. Clean it and wrap it up first, a part of their mind instructs. Don’t panic, don’t yell. Clean, wrap, then call.

Their mom stands still, staring at her own arm as Paeton reaches out again. “We’ll wash it off in the sink,” they say, the words falling from their lips calmer than they would have expected. That was good, they didn’t want to make her panic more.

Their fingers gently close on the upper part of her arm, smearing blood from her wound over the previously-clean flesh. They try to lead her to the bathroom, but she shrieks again. This time, Paeton jerks their fingers away the moment they see their fingers sinking through greying, dead flesh.

Your fault, a voice whispers as they stare at the new wound in their mom’s arm with numb shock. You did this. You caused this.

She won’t move then. She won’t talk. She stands and screams, holding her wounded arm with one hand as if pressing it to her chest will make the bleeding stop. But the grey color to her flesh is spreading, Paeton can see it.

Panic flutters in their chest as they scramble for the phone. Call now, call and let somebody else dress the wound. You did this. You can’t help. This is your fault, you can’t touch her again.

But she’s still screaming, tears tumbling down her cheeks as Paeton tries to speak to the operator over the lump in their throat. But they can’t, because she’s too loud and too hurt and too scared and they can’t think they can’t think they can’t think she just needs to be quiet for a moment they can’t THINK

Paeton tries to calm her. They’ve got the phone, there’s going to be an ambulance, things are going to be okay. But they still can’t work over the tight ball of worry and fear in their throat and she won’t be quiet. The operator on the phone is speaking, but they can’t hear him. Maybe all he can hear, in return, is the screaming.

“Please,” Paeton manages to choke out, and they reach out with one hand to shush her. They don’t know what else to do.

Their hand make contact with her face. She stops, for a brief moment, and her eyes widen as Paeton’s fingers cover her mouth. They’ve never seen her eyes so wide, so scared, and the moment seems to stick with them before her eyes roll back in her head as the grey spreads across her face.

She collapses. The phone slips from Paeton’s fingers. The man on the phone’s still trying to talk to them, but Paeton isn’t listening. She’s not screaming anymore. Her bottom lip splits, welts open across her face, and her mouth falls slack as she takes one last, ragged breath.

You did this.

Paeton flexes their fingers, staring down at the blood covering their hands. Their mom’s dead, and they don’t know why, but it’s their fault, their fault and she won’t come back and this isn’t a dream this is real this is real this can’t be real somebody please

You did this. That voice in their head, louder now, insistent. You caused this. She’s dead.

Your fault.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Consider leaving a comment letting me know your thoughts; I'd love to read them!


End file.
